


ichigo ichie (一期一会)

by cruelzy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 16:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelzy/pseuds/cruelzy
Summary: Extinction creeps in. He tends to the garden.





	ichigo ichie (一期一会)

**Author's Note:**

> ichigo ichie (一期一会) _— japanese: idiom that describes a cultural concept of treasuring gatherings with people; a reminder to cherish moments and meetings with people because they can never be replicated; each moment is always once in a lifetime_

“I don’t.”

“What?" 

Willow-like and perched on top of the mist, Cole draws a line in the dirt. He plucks a weed with nimble fingers, a flurry of gratitudes whispered in quick succession under his breath. ” _Untold thanks of sundry._ “ Then quieter, reverently ceaseless: ” _sleep baleful passenger, take ease, ease, ease_ _—"_

Before you lose him entirely, “Cole?”

The hushed mantras cut abruptly, falling flat. He looks at you. You look back, elbow-deep in manure. 

“You were wondering why I don’t go home,” he says, smoothing out a patch of dirt. “Then you wondered if I had a home at all. I don’t." 

Thoroughly scolded, you sit back on your heels. "I cannot control my every thought.”

Cole thumbs the torn stalks solemnly, as if he were handling corpses and not unwanted greens. “My appearance does not match the meaning of authority.” There is an obvious disconnect between his focus and his words. “The clothing is as worn and as dilapidated as your own, and bare feet laugh with the soil. You latch onto the kindness, but doubt my truth." 

"Yes.” It would be pointless to deny it. “You say you lay with saviours, yet you continue to return here. Why would a member of the glorious Inquisition help tend a peasant’s crops?”

Cole disappears.

He returns long after the morning fog has receded: daggers soaked in blood, flower crown in his hair. Gazes at the sun in the east, then says nothing that day, nor the next. 

Nothing as he toils and strips the beds of mold. Nothing as he guides your hands to listen to the wants of the land, nothing as he stakes rows and rows of compost and refills your buckets at the river. Spring continues to bloom and unfold. When the end of the month crawls in with your harvest, he finally answers. 

“I help because you need,” he says at the foot of your bed that afternoon, as if it were normal, as if the conversation hadn’t ended weeks ago. Familiar with the enigma that stands in your home, you remain largely unaffected. 

“You do not live with your warriors?" 

"I stay with the Inquisition,” says Cole. “I live everywhere.”

You lapse into silence, taking the time to cradle the shape of his eyes to memory; the curve of his jaw; the abnormal still of his chest: void of breath.

Cole rises to his full height, restless. “You want me to leave?”

You sigh.

“Great springs of warmth stranded to drought,” he quivers in uncontrollable shivers, “lovely heart lost to _fire_ _—_ and scorching, you flee, only to _drown in the dark_ _—_ I _—_ I _try_ to hear, but I cannot reach what’s hidden, I cannot _see_ _—_ " 

You smile sadly. "Cole. I feel as though I’m holding you down.”

He flickers before your very eyes, endless immersion of neither shadow nor light. “ _Why_?”

“I’m not simpleminded. The illness will consume me soon, and then of purpose, I will have none." You step into your shoes gently, wrapping your shawl round yourself. “You’ve lingered these last days. You fidget in involuntary spasms, clinging desperately to this space as you reject your very _nature_. There are others who need your help, and I will not hold down your wings. These moments do not matter in the end.”

“I made you forget. You have chosen to remember.”

“Always.”

“You are wrong.” Compassion takes your hand, eyes aflame. In this moment, he is the most spirit you have ever seen him. “These moments make you who you are.”

Rising off the balls of your feet, you push his hat up softly, brushing your lips faintly to his forehead. He exhales, woodsmoke running down his cheeks.

“I will wait for you beyond the veil.”

“Of course,” you squeeze his hand. “But first, those wonderful flowers you brought me need a place to stay. Any ideas?”


End file.
